Blood Ties
by lycanus1
Summary: "You mess with my family, you mess with me ..." A knight's thoughts and feelings about his kin and the fall-out from "The First Cut Is The Deepest ..." *WARNING: rated for violence and strong language*
1. Out of the Loop

_**Disclaimer: **_The KA lads _never_ were mine, _still_ aren't mine and _never_ will be. Everything you recognize, belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer & Touchstone Pictures - godsdamnit ! No copyright infringement is intended.

_**A/N:**_ This is the Bors-centric sequel to "The First Cut Is The Deepest" and deals with Bors' reactions to the fallout of "First Cut." It's not pretty ...

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Blood Ties **

**Part I: **_**Out Of The Loop**_

_Bors' pov__:_

Something had happened ... I could feel it in the air. It was tangible. A dark cloud of intensity hung over us all. One which had enveloped my cousin, Dagonet and was slowly smothering the life and soul out of him.

All I knew, that whatever it was, it was bad and I was going to get to the bottom of it - even if it bloody killed me ...

I could tell the others knew something was wrong; that they were deliberately keeping something from me, just by the bloody shifty way they acted when I was nearby. That somehow, it involved my beloved kinsman and our Scout, his lover. It revolved around the pair of them.

It hurt being purposefully kept out of the loop and that angered me greatly.

Oh, I tried asking Gawain, but the damn Halani could barely look me in the eye. Told me it wasn't his place to say anything and that I should speak to my cousin. And the Pup ? It seemed as if he'd been taking lessons in avoidance and stealth from the damned Scout. He was nowhere to be seen or if he was, made perfectly sure that I couldn't get to him. Tristan was never about ... and Dag ?

Dag was an absolute bloody mess. If he'd been shy and reserved before, it was nothing compared to what he was like now. He'd retreated further into his shell. Dag kept strictly to himself and avoided everyone. Was sullen and uncommunicative. Secretive and full of simmering rage. The glowing, vibrant spark of life had left his silvery eyes and they now appeared full of extreme anguish and endless pain.

The most shocking thing about him was his appearance. He hardly ate any more and drank far too much. More than was good for him. The weight soon dropped off Dag and for a tall man of six foot three, it was not a good thing. He looked haggard, extremely gaunt and his tanned skin no longer glowed with health. It was waxy and ashen. Even my Gilly had noticed. And I'm telling you, it's come to something when an eight year old remarks with the truthfulness only a child can possess, that his much loved uncle looks "like death."

Dag was fucking wasting away before my very eyes. Starving and drinking himself into an early grave. And it was breaking my fucking heart because _I_ couldn't stop him ... I didn't know how to bloody stop him ...

The only thing I knew was that I had to stop him somehow. If not for his own sake, then for the rest of my family. The little bastards all adored him. If I'm honest, they damn near worshipped the man ... were forever clinging tightly to him or hanging on to his every word. Under normal circumstances, I would have been jealous, but the circumstances were far from normal. I'd have given anything now to have him here with us; playing with the little ones, quietly scolding them when the need arose or simply telling them a story and making them happy. The brood were clearly missing him and were heartbroken by his self-imposed absence.

My beloved, much put-upon Vanora meanwhile, tried to hide her feelings from us, but I could tell she too missed him desperately. Over the years, she and Dag had developed a deep, close friendship and Van loved him like a brother. His odd behaviour worried her intensely and she was deeply hurt and distressed when he began to shun us all. Yet despite everything, Van never stopped caring or fretting about him.

Even the aloof Scout had been welcomed into the fold, purely for the fact that he adored my cousin and made him happy. To our astonishment, the standoffish Aorsi's reserve seemed to thaw with the children and his golden gaze would soften with deep affection, when my youngest daughter would always insist on clambering upon his knee, then throw her chubby, little arms tightly around his neck to snuggle up against him before falling asleep in his embrace. Then, all of a sudden the Scout's visits stopped and now I find myself nursing my youngest in my arms every night as she sucks her thumb and cries herself to sleep, because she desperately misses her "nuncle Twistwan."

Strange really, but looking back, the visits just seemed to stop around six weeks ago, straight after the night Dag mysteriously disappeared. That was funny business, come to think of it and I never found out what happened then either. Nor why Dag insists on never removing his tunic, even when the weather's sweltering. Or why he refuses to go swimming with us, or tends to avoid the bath-house like the plague when any of us are there. I just can't help thinking all of these things are linked, yet for the life of me, I can't see the connection.

I hardly ever see Tristan these days - he's rarely at the fort anymore. It's as if he too, is intent on shunning us all. And when I do catch a glimpse of him, he seems positively wraith-like as he flits from the stables, to the bath-house; then to his quarters, only stopping briefly at the tavern to eat alone before hastily returning to the stables once more to ride out on yet another patrol.

That's another thing that's been preying on my mind lately. That the Scout's always patrolling and is no longer seen with my cousin. That the pair of them - who used to be inseparable - are as heartbroken as each other and are clearly miserable as sin apart ...

How that came to pass, I don't know. What I do know is that the stubborn buggers need to be together. They belong to each other. Any fool can see that. Hell ! Even _I_ can see it, and I'm far from being the brightest and sharpest blade in the fucking armoury ...

Van has pleaded with me not to meddle ... not to interfere and there's nothing I'd like to do more than to heed her wise counsel and leave well alone. Yet, how can I ? How can I, in all honesty, do that when my beloved, young kinsman is suffering so much heartbreak and pain ? How could I live with myself and allow that to continue, for mercy's sake ?

The simple fact of the matter is that I can't ... I_ will _not ... 'Cause I know, deep down in my heart - in my soul - that if our situations were reversed, Dag wouldn't hesitate for an instant ... He _would_ be there for me ...

So, no ... I'm not going to piss about and do nothing. This shit's gone on for long enough. If no one can be arsed to tell me what's going on, then it looks like I'll have to take matters into my own hands, doesn't it ?

_**XXXXX**_

**TWO DAYS LATER**

Well, it_ had _to happen eventually. I was bound to find out. Surprizingly, in the end I didn't have to do any digging or snooping as I came across the truth entirely by accident. Thanks to a pair of loose-lipped serving wenches who happened to be gossiping outside the tavern. And the story I heard, definately wasn't to my liking.

I immediately stormed into the tavern, breathing fire and brimstone, past a bewildered Vanora who was cradling our youngest in her arms, in search of the culprit who had caused all of the mayhem. Ignoring her worried calls, I studied the room's occupants and soon spotted him. Not that _he_ was making much of an effort to remain out of the public eye. Ever since I've known the arrogant sod, he's _always _had to be the centre of attention and would do almost anything to get it ...

All I could think of was that I was going to kill the conniving, selfish, fucking bastard. I was going to make him wish he'd _never_ been born.

One of the wenches passed me, carrying a tray laden with tankards of ale. I grabbed one and swiftly downed its contents, then after I'd finished drinking, hastily wiped my mouth and chin with my right hand before slowly stalking past the customers towards my goal. Not once did I take my eyes off him, fearing if I did just for an instant, he would surely disappear.

I was dimly aware of Vanora frantically calling my name as I approached the table where he sat, right in the middle of the crowded room.

Bloody typical ! I thought, he just had to sit where everyone could see him. Still, that suited me just fine, especially when I considered what I had planned for him. He'd get plenty of attention alright, only it wouldn't be the sort he constantly craved and demanded.

People must have sensed my murderous intentions as they began to back away from me, leaving me with a clear path which led to my quarry. I soon found myself standing in front of the table, watching him through narrowed eyes.

One of the serving wenches - a comely, blonde lass - sat on his lap, giggling helplessly. The one Van always claimed to be far too gullible for her own good. Van had been right in her assessment of the girl, for if _he_ was the company she willingly chose to keep, she was either very naive or just plain stupid. For her sake, I hoped it was the former, but deep down, I knew it was the latter.

She giggled once more as his black, leather-clad arm tightened around her slender waist. He lowered his dark, curly head to whisper in her ear before sweeping a swathe of fair hair away from her neck so that he could nuzzle her throat.

"Leave us," I growled softly, as I leant over the oak table. He eventually deigned to look at me, his dark gaze insolent and he had that infuriatingly smug grin on his handsome, bearded face - the one I'd always loathed. "You and I have business that needs sorti- "

"Huh ! ... Bors ... Can't you see that I'm busy here ? Come back later ..." He then turned his attention back to the girl on his lap, with a leer.

I felt the red mist descend upon me. It hungered for vengeance and it craved blood - _his _blood ... By now, I was trembling with barely suppressed rage and with my right arm I furiously swept aside the clay pitcher of ale and the tankards that were on the table. They fell onto the hard, stone floor with a loud crash.

"I said leave us -_ now _! Don't make me move you, girl ... " I hissed, noting with satisfaction the apprehension on her face as she swiftly disentangled herself from his grasp and hurried away completely flustered. He was instantly on his feet, tense with fury and frustration.

"_You_ will pay for that, Bors," he spat, grasping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"_I_ will pay ?" I repeated softly, aware of the constant burning itch in my right fist. The itch that always warned me of my intense need to hit something or ... someone ... "I will pay, will I ? You sure about that ? After what _you_ did six weeks ago ? To _my_ family ? _My _cousin ? You'll be the one crawling on your hands and knees in the dirt "paying," not me !" The angrier I got, the louder my roar became. The tavern had become deadly silent and people weren't bothering to hide their curiosity and were openly listening, but by now I was beyond caring ... I was too far gone ...

"I never did anything t- " he began to deny, further incurring my wrath.

"That's a load of fucking bollocks and you fucking know it ! It's time you learnt a lesson, Lancelot. You can't go around creating mayhem and hurting people and still remain unscathed ... You need to learn you can't swan about the place, acting on your whims and then leave a trail of devastation in your wake ..." I moved around the table, closed the gap between us and really got into his face. "This godsdamned world doesn't owe you or anyone a single fucking thing. What makes you think _you're _so special, pretty boy ? More than the rest of us, huh ? I'll bloody tell you - nothing ! And _you_ need to bloody realize that - pretty damn quick !"

The dark knight leaned forward and snarled, "Just fuck off, Bors. You bore me ..." He turned on his heel and was about to walk away, but I had other ideas. It was always a bad idea for someone to turn their back on me when I was itching for a good scrap.

Ignoring Van's furious call of "Bors - _no !_ You bloody idiot !" I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Gods ! What no- ?" He turned his head and before he was aware of what had happened, I'd raised my right fist and lashed out hard. Unlike my cousin, I _never_ held back on a punch, especially if I felt the blow was justified. It caught him completely offguard. Dazed, he staggered, then fell on his arse onto the floor. His lower lip had split and was bleeding quite profusely. He slowly shook his head, stared blankly at me and raised the back of his right hand to press against his lip.

I stalked towards him, then looked down at him menacingly. "Want to know what's the biggest lesson you need to learn before I really start kicking your sorry, pathetic arse, you arrogant, little shit ?"

Mute, he eyed me warily.

"You forgot the most important bloody lesson," I roared, as I began to unwind the long, black woollen scarf from around my neck and slowly circled him, purely to intimidate. "You mess with _my_ family, you mess with_ me _..."

**TBC ... **


	2. Cat Out of the Bag

_**Disclaimer:**_ See Chapter I.

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**Part II: **_**Cat Out Of The Bag**_

_Bors' pov__:_

It was over before I knew it.

I'd often been consumed by bloodlust during battle, but this was the first time I'd fallen victim to it against one of my own. A fellow knight and Sarmatian. Someone who was meant to be my brother ...

I was overcome by the red mist. Could feel nothing but disgust, rage and intense hatred toward the man who lay prone at my feet, groaning in agony and bleeding profusely. All I can remember is that I lost it. I'd lost all control. Was overwhelmed by a compulsive need to punish ... To inflict pain ... To avenge the huge slight to my kinsman ...

I recall hitting him. The immense satisfaction I felt when my fist connected hard with his lean body and darkly handsome face. How the first blow had felt and how I couldn't overcome the need to continue raining those blows on him. The itch in my fist intensified, rather than lessened, with every relentless, savage punch. And I revelled in the feel of my fist colliding repeatedly against him; the sound of bone sharply striking flesh and the sweet scent of blood in the air.

Then suddenly, there was nothing. I felt nothing. Except acute dismay, as I felt myself being wrenched away from my quarry by a pair of exceptionally strong, muscular arms. I began to struggle violently in protest. Intent on finishing what I'd started.

"Leave it ... Let it go, Bors," I heard Gawain hiss in my ear, his grip tightening relentlessly around me. "Please ..."

"I can't, Gawain," I panted, gasping for breath. I turned my head to look at him and saw nothing but genuine worry on his attractive face and deep concern in his cobalt eyes. "I can't drop it ... Not after what that little shit did to our Dag. The bastard deserves everything that's coming to him ..."

Gawain sighed heavily. "You think I don't know that, Bors ?" he replied softly, meeting and holding my accusing glare. "He deserved that and far more in my opinion, for what he did ... But think, man, this isn't the way to go about it. Think of Vanora and the children. Think of Dag ... Would they want you to get into trouble because of that arrogant sod ? Is the bugger really worth getting into so much strife ? And mark me well, Bors, _you_ would be in trouble ... Being Arthur's second, he has his ear and _he_ will use that to his advantage ... You know that as well as I do ..."

I slumped wearily against his tall, hard, muscular frame. The fight slowly draining away from me as I shook my head in despair. "I know that, Halani. I, I just can't ... Can't you see what's happening to Dag ? Don't you care ?"

The strapping blond watched me silently, his intense blue eyes clouding with sorrow. "Is that what you think ? Is that how low you truly believe me to be, Bors ?" he asked gravely. "That I don't care ? You are so wrong, Bors. So wrong ... Unlike you, Dag and I may not be tied by blood, but he's _still_ my brother ... My family ... I care more than you know. I hate seeing Dag isolating himself because he's in so much pain. I'd give anything to have my brother back the way he was instead of like thi- ... For mercy's sake, Bors,_ this _is slowly killing him ..."

I sighed deeply. "And that's why I can't drop it, Gawain. Don't ask that of me ..."

Gawain glared at me, his blue eyes narrowing with intent. "I have to, Bors. For Van and the children. For Dagonet. We've already lost both him and Tristan because of this. We can't lose you too and that's what'll happen. That bastard will have won, Bors and I don't want to see that. I _won't_ see it happen ..."

I silently watched him. His pleas were genuine and came from the heart. Of that I had no doubt. Despite his reputation of not taking things seriously and acting the fool at times, the Halani truly cared about his brother knights and all of the dissension and ill-feeling was clearly taking its toll on him.

"Please, Bors ... If not for yourself or me, do it for them. We all need you ..." he said quietly, slowly releasing me from his iron grip. "I never beg, but for this I'll make an exception. Be the bigger man and walk away, Bors. Just let it go, for all of our sakes ..."

I stepped away out of his reach, then gingerly rubbed my bruised and bloody knuckles and spat at the ground by Lancelot's feet. I found myself reluctantly relenting and nodded my assent. For once, words weren't needed as a silent understanding passed between us. I shrugged my shoulders and Gawain gave me a crooked grin in acknowledgement. He knew how hard it had been for me to agree to his request and the growing respect in his cobalt eyes was hard to miss.

My attention was suddenly caught by a slight movement over Gawain's shoulder and that's when I saw him ... Dagonet.

It wasn't that my young cousin was hard to miss, not when he stood head and shoulders above everyone else. But his silent demeanour and his habit of staying in the shadows often made people overlook him. But I'd never been one to ignore Dagonet. He was far too important to me.

He looked like crap ! That's the only way I could describe it. I'd never seen him look so unkempt. So ill. Worringly so, if truth be told. Pale and gaunt, he looked at me and for a brief moment I dared to hope that the old Dagonet was back. Sorrow, confusion and pain flashed fleetingly within his silvery eyes. Going by the shock on his still attractive face, I realized then as his gaze flickered briefly to the floor that he knew what I'd done. That I'd done it for him ...

He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Then, just as quickly as those emotions had appeared, they were swiftly replaced by the frozen mask of indifference that he'd taken to wearing over the past six weeks. Dagonet suddenly turned on his heel and stalked away, clutching a large, red clay ewer of ale.

"Shit !" I hissed as soon as I saw the jug in his right hand. Wherever he was headed for - on his own - with all that ale, I knew the outcome wouldn't be good. "DA-AG !"

There was no way of knowing if he'd heard me. He just continued to unsteadily weave his way through the crowd and out of the tavern.

"Fuck !" Gawain muttered. He agitatedly scratched the back of his head as he watched Dagonet leave. "Maybe you should go after him, Bors. I've tried talking to him and had no luck. Was told in no uncertain terms that unless I wanted to end up in the valetudinarium for a week or so, to bugger off and leave him the hell alone ! You're his family, he might listen to you ..."

I nodded grimly. If Gawain had tried to reason with Dagonet - and the man was so persuasive and likable that he could charm the most virtuous and purest of wenches into his bed and _still _remain on good terms with them afterwards - and failed, maybe it was high time for the head of the family to have a go ...

_**XXXXX**_

I eventually found him sitting on the ramparts, gazing blindly into the darkness and to my dismay, he was drinking heavily.

"Dag ?" I eased my large bulk to sit beside him and carefully placed my flagon down between us.

"I'm _not_ in the mood for company, Bors," he muttered, raising his ewer to his mouth and drinking deeply from it. He savagely wiped the ale's foam from his lips with the sleeve of his leather surcoat.

"You haven't _been_ "in the mood" for weeks now," I remarked mildly as he brooded and continued to stare straight ahead.

"I just want to be alone ... and to be left alone."

Rolling my stiff and aching shoulders, I sighed deeply. "Too much solitude isn't good for anyone, cousi- "

"Bors !" By now, Dagonet was beginning to sound pissed off and his pale eyes had narrowed angrily.

It was time to take the bull by the horns. I thought I'd done pretty well to last this long. After all, sensitivity, tact and diplomacy had _never_ been my strong points. "This ends here - _now !_ What the fuck's going on between you and Tristan ?"

"Bloody hell, Bors !" There was a warning rumble in Dagonet's deep, rich voice. One which I chose to ignore.

"Well ? Have you and that damn Scout fallen out ? Is it over a wench ?" I persisted, knowing full well that it wasn't. I wasn't going to let the matter drop as I needed to hear the truth from Dagonet's own lips.

"Nothing's going on. Just drop it, Bors, for mercy's sake ..."

"The hell it is ... "Nothing's going on" be damned ! I _may_ act like an idiot at times, Dag, but I'm no fool. I'm worried about you. Van's beside herself. You're the only family I've got left from home, man. I love you ..." I paused and decided to play dirty. "If you won't tell me why you're avoiding that Aorsi bastard, I'll just have to ask him ... I'll get it out of Tristan, even if I have to beat the fucking shit out of hi- "

"_No !_" Reluctantly, Dagonet finally met my gaze. His silver eyes were cloudy, tinged with confusion, panic, misery and pain. "No ... don't ... Please ?"

His response shocked me and I carefully removed the ewer from his hand and said gently, "Talk to me, cousin. I might be able to help ... or if you can't speak to me, talk to Vanora. You're like a brother to her and she cares about you. Please ... we both want the old Dag back - we miss him !"

Dagonet groaned softly and buried his face in both hands. "I can't, Bors ... I just can't be around him anymore. I, I don't know what to say to him or how to behave around him."

I silently drank some ale and savoured its bitter taste, then slowly turned to watch him. He looked so lost, dejected and vulnerable. The quiet, newly-confident, happy man that had returned to the fort with Gawain and myself six weeks ago was gone - never to return. In his place was a broken shell of a man and seeing him like that was breaking my heart.

"I know, Dag," I replied quietly. "I know ... I heard what happened that night ... At the tavern ..."

The sincerity in my voice must have struck a chord within him. Dagonet abruptly lifted his head and watched me warily with stricken eyes. "How ? How di- ?" he whispered hoarsely. "I never meant for you to know ... For you to find ou- "

Carefully, I moved my flagon to one side and leant towards him. "Does it matter how I know ?" I asked gruffly, steadily holding his gaze. "What matters Dag, is that you're not alone in this. Not anymore ... You have family to support you - whether you want us or not ..." I gave him a faint, wry grin. "Never hide from me, Dag, or feel any shame ... You shouldn't have to - _you_ did nothing wrong. Remember that. You're a Roxolani - we do not hide or slink away in fear or shame. Roxolani do not break nor do we give in. We stand our ground and fight for what we believe in. For what we want. What we need ... and what or who we love ... Nothing or no one must ever come between that ..."

Dagonet was the first to break eye contact and to my horror, I could visibly see him shatter before me. He pulled back and reluctantly began to unfasten and strip off his leather and steel vambraces. He then removed the ornate, thick leather and metal belt from around his waist and shrugged off the brown leather surcoat, before rolling up the sleeves of his rust-coloured tunic.

Baffled by his actions, I shifted my bulk uneasily and wearily rubbed my nape. "Dag ... ?" Wordlessly, he moved closer to the torch that hung between us on the stone wall, both arms held outstretched in front of him beneath the flickering light. It was then I finally saw them ... What Dagonet had been deliberately concealing from me and the others over the past few weeks.

The myriad of long, vicious-looking, fading scars that criss-crossed his sinewy forearms sickened me to the pit of my stumoch. Wounds that I'd never seen before. Ones I hadn't known about. For once, I was completely at a loss and didn't know what to say.

"What the- ? _Fucking hell, Dag !_" I blurted out without thinking, when I finally found my voice. "For mercy's sake how di- ?" I reached for his right arm and forced myself to examine it more closely.

Sluggishly, Dag raised his head and hesitantly met my shocked gaze. For the first time since we were children, I saw actual fear, apprehension and shame on his face. It was then I realized how much pain he'd been suffering and that those wounds had been inflicted by his own hand ...

"It's too late, Bors," Dagonet spoke huskily, his voice roughened by tears. Tears which silently fell from his pale, intelligent eyes. "_I'm_ already broken ... I'm a failure, cousin. There's nothing to fight for anymore. I haven't the strength or the will left to fight ... I've nothing left. Nothing to give ... Nothing to live for ..."

As I watched Dagonet, I could tell that he firmly believed what he'd said. The fire had died within him and his spirit was crushed. He was truly broken. Devastated. Exhausted. He tore his gaze away from mine and began to turn from me. Violent shudders began to course through his lean, powerful frame.

I immediately pulled him into my arms and held him close. The way he clung to me, so silent, childlike, innocent and trusting, reminded me of the times I'd embraced my youngest daughter and comforted her after the Scout stopped visiting. Funny really, how I ended up offering solace to the two people who'd been left utterly distraught by the same man ...

"It's never too late, Dag, and you're not a failure. Not as far as me and mine are concerned. You say you have nothing ? That's where you're wrong, see ? You have me, Van and the little bastards ... You _still_ have your family," I growled as I rested my chin upon his stubbled scalp. "People who care about you ... who love you ... Who are willing to fight for you - to the death if need be ... You're my cousin. My kinsman. I'll always be here for you, Dag, no matter what. We're bonded for life, never forget that ... I'd follow you through hell and high water. We are tied by blood and I will _always_ have your back ..."

And as I uttered those words, I vowed to myself that was one promise I intended to keep and _only_ death would break it ...

**Finis**


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